The Well of Shades (88 page)

It has been a time of wonders. I saw the miraculous feats worked by our own Colmcille through his faith in God. We came to the court of Fortriu, and here we witnessed a phenomenon still more astounding: the transformation of a bird into a child at the hands of Bridei’s queen. In
private,
Colm called this an act of sorcery and condemned it. I felt bound to say that, by whatever art it was she used, Queen Tuala had saved the life of an innocent. I’d seen that shadowy well. I’d seen how pale and bruised Faolan’s young wife was when we found her, and the look in her eyes when she thought her daughter dead. I knew that if godless evil lurked within the walls of White Hill, it was
not in the fey form of the queen, nor in the powerful druid who, they say, is her father
—
that was apparently as much of a surprise to the folk of Bridei’s court as it was to me
—
but in the hands of the woman who wrought havoc among these people on no better grounds than a jealous whim. That night, Faolan nearly killed the princess of the Light Isles. I saw his hands around her neck, until his fellow
guards pulled him away. That I did not mention to my brethren. Now she is dead, not at the hand of an assassin, but by pure mischance. May God rest her soul, for although she performed wicked acts, she was still young. If she had lived, perhaps in time she might have learned to tread a better path.

There is another mystery within this tale. How was it Tuala appeared outside the walls of the fortress,
accompanied by the long-absent Broichan and her own missing child? She was said to have been unwell; to have remained in her quarters looking after her newborn infant all through the time of Derelei’s absence. Yet there she was that same evening, down below the gates, and ready on an instant to halt the little girl’s terrible fall by changing her. Miracle or sorcery? We discussed it long
within the enclosing walls of our private quarters at White Hill. It seemed to me that the question of which priest spoke the prayer that preserved Saraid’s life, which deity chose to exercise compassion that night, was almost immaterial. I had only to see the look on Eile’s face and on Faolan’s when their daughter was restored to them to know that an act of great goodness had taken place. Perhaps,
I said to Brother Colm, wishing to move away from talk of Tuala’s
sorcery, it was an Act of Grace. We had all been praying hard that the king’s son would be restored to him. God had heard our prayers. At the same time, in His wisdom, He had seen the fall of a tiny sparrow and out of His great compassion spared her.

S
UIBNE, MONK OF
D
ERRY

“I
AM COME
as an emissary,”
said Brother Colm, dark eyes intent in his pale, lean face. He had the appearance of an aesthete, but that was deceptive, Bridei thought. The man was strong as iron and every inch a leader. They sat now in the grand council chamber at White Hill, which was set about with lamps and hung with tapestries on which the ancient symbols of the Priteni bloodlines were embroidered: the twin shields, the broken
rod and crescent moon, the eagle that was his own sign of kingship. The images gave Bridei strength; they kept him in mind of who he was and what he must do here. Today, he and Carnach both wore their blue cloaks, the particular dye of the cloth signifying that they were descended from the royal line of the Priteni. The preliminaries of the audience were over. Bridei had acknowledged the Christians
and made an apology for the delay in receiving them formally. Colm had expressed sadness that there had been yet another death at White Hill, and thanked the king, coolly, for his hospitality. That done, Bridei had invited him to state his purpose at the court of Fortriu.

“You have a secular master, Brother Colm?” inquired Broichan, who was seated on Bridei’s right. “Would that be a petty king
of the Uí Néill? Close kin, perhaps?” He was wearing his customary black robe, and his eyes equaled it in darkness, deep-set in a face that seemed these days all bone. He had scraped his cropped hair back, tying it in a cord at the nape of the neck. His voice was resonant and strong.

“The Lord God is my only master,” Colm replied, meeting the druid’s eye. “I am His messenger. Those matters on
which I wish to address King Bridei concern the safety of our brethren within Priteni territories, and the promise of a safe haven for myself and those men who accompanied me to this shore. My purpose is God’s purpose. I follow the path He sets before me.”

Faolan and Brother Suibne were sharing the duties of translator, since the discussion would be complex. Wid and Keother’s scribe sat side
by side with quills in hand, taking it in turns to record the proceedings. Colmcille had chosen to bring only Suibne to the audience with him and, in his turn, Bridei had limited his party to Keother, Carnach, and Broichan, along with the necessary translator, scribes, and guards.

“We understand this,” Broichan said now. “Yet we have heard that your reasons for leaving your home shore had more
to do with a territorial struggle than with a grand endeavor of faith. Is this not so? Were you not cast out of Erin for interfering in the course of a battle? If that is true, the king wonders at your temerity in approaching him here in the heartland of Fortriu, when less than a year ago his folk defeated yours in the great war of the west.”

Colm turned a gaze on him that would have shriveled
a lesser man. “I could examine your own past here and now, before these listeners,” the Christian said. “But I choose not to do so; it has no relevance to the matters under discussion. Should you do me the courtesy of exercising equal forbearance, I will think the better of you for it.” The penetrating look turned toward Bridei. “My lord king, let me set this out for you plainly. I know it is your
practice to keep hostages at your court as surety against the compliance of your vassal king. King Keother is here with us today; his own cousin spent years as a captive at Fortriu’s court. In his kingdom dwell many Christian hermits. They are tolerated there, allowed their
patch of land and freedom of worship. I seek your assurance that our brethren in the Light Isles will continue to be offered
that freedom; that you intend them no harm now or in the future. I know you have outlawed the practice of our faith in Dalriada. I would not see that restriction put in place for your northern islands as well.”

“Tell me,” said Carnach, “if King Bridei were to send Broichan to your own homeland, and our druid and his fellows were to teach the ancient faith of the Priteni to all in Erin who would
hear them, would you expect that practice to go on unchallenged and unimpeded?”

“His teachings would fall on deaf ears,” Colm said simply. “Erin is fast becoming a Christian land, as is your own southern realm of Circinn. Even a king’s druid cannot stand firm against such a tide.”

Bridei caught a particular look on Faolan’s face, swiftly masked. Faolan was present as a translator, not as a participant
in the meeting. Nonetheless, Bridei said, “Faolan, will you give us your opinion on this matter, since you are not long returned from that shore? Do Brother Colm’s words give an accurate picture of the lie of the land in Erin?”

“I am not a man of faith, my lord. From my observations, I would say two modes of belief exist side by side in my homeland, the old and the new. In some regions one is
more prominent, in some the other. Folk cling to the traditions of their ancestors, the trusted and true, even in the face of a tide such as Brother Colm mentions. On the other hand, the missionaries of the Christian faith have been astute in their teachings. They are expert at blending old and new in a way that draws folk in.”

Colmcille had fixed a stern gaze on Faolan as he spoke. “We made
you welcome among us at Kerrykeel, and on the voyage to Dalriada,” he said. “Were you sent among us not as a messenger but as a spy?”

“An emissary only, as you are,” Faolan said lightly. “But old habits die hard.”

“Have you an answer for me on the question of the Light Isles, my lord king?” Colm asked, now ignoring everyone but Bridei himself.

Broichan rose to his feet. He was a tall man; his
eyes were level with the Christian’s. “If your intention is to run through a list of demands and obtain the king’s approval for each in turn,” he said coolly, “you have sorely mistaken the nature of this audience. You are a supplicant. You represent a faith that has been outlawed in Fortriu. When our own wise women and druids spoke out against those who spread the Christian teaching in Circinn,
they were cut down or banished, their houses of prayer destroyed. Be glad that King Bridei treats your party with respect, and moderate your tone.”

Colm’s gaze had remained on Bridei. “What do you say, my lord king?” he asked.

Bridei drew a deep breath. “Broichan speaks for me,” he said quietly. “We are of one mind. I will give you my decisions when all the business of this audience has been
presented. You mentioned only in passing the matter which I know to be your strongest reason for making this arduous journey up the Glen to my court. Now is your opportunity to tell us of Yew Tree Isle, and a promise made by a man who no longer has the authority to honor it.”

He wondered if Colm would choose to berate him for banning the practice of the Christian faith in Dalriada, or make a
speech about folk needing to move with the times, or comment that, if the court at White Hill represented Bridei’s kingdom in miniature, Fortriu must be a place where murder, plotting, and sorcery ran rampant. Instead, the priest made a simple statement of his heartfelt desire for a safe haven, a place where he might establish a house of prayer and contemplation amid the wonders of God’s creation.
Ioua was such a place; he had felt the breath of God in the west wind and heard the whisper of holiness
in the waves on the shore. For now, should Bridei agree to fulfill the promise made by Gabhran of Dalriada, Colm and his twelve brethren would do no more than establish their monastic house.

“A man such as yourself is incapable of stopping at that,” said Broichan flatly. “I see it in your eyes; I hear it in every word you speak. You’re on a mission. If you are given Ioua, you will not long be
content with it. Your teachings will spread like a creeping plague over all Fortriu, even to the eastern coast and down to the borders. Give us an undertaking that none of you will travel beyond Yew Tree Isle and the king might perhaps give your proposal some consideration.”

“Are you afraid,” Colm asked, and his tone was a battle cry, a ringing challenge, “that you must hedge yourselves about
with restrictions thus? How can a man’s faith be true faith if it has not been fully tested? To shut your ears entirely to our doctrines, to prohibit all Christian prayer on your home soil, is to admit that your own gods cannot stand up to the comparison. If your faith in them is stalwart and sure, where is the harm in learning the message of Our Lord Jesus Christ? Weigh the two against each other,
as in a scale, and if your old convictions remain unshaken, perhaps you are justified in clinging to them with some degree of certainty. I know you will not do this, Druid. It is plain to me that your ears are forever closed to the word of God; that your eyes are blind to the light. You dare not test your faith in the way I suggest. But I challenge you to do so, King Bridei. Experience the opening
of your heart and soul to the light of the one true God. His is a path made not by fear but by love. I see in you a man born to tread that path.”

“I have been tested,” Broichan said. His voice was like winter, spare and cold. The dark eyes blazed with feeling. It came to Bridei that he and Colm were a pair; not so much the two sides of one man, as the same man cast in two different molds. “And
King Bridei has been tested
more rigorously than your kind can ever understand,” the druid went on. “There will be no spreading of the Christian faith within Fortriu.” For a moment, the air around him seemed to crackle with energy, as if the anger of the gods inhabited him, lending him an Otherworldly power. “The king is the gods’ representative on earth; he is obedient to their will.”

“You are
refusing to honor King Gabhran’s undertaking?” There was no mistaking the tone of Colm’s voice; the anger was undisguised. Suibne translated, looking at the floor.

“Are the matters of your petition set out in full?” asked Carnach. “As the king told you, we will hear all of them before any answers are given.”

Colm gave a stiff nod. “For now, this is all,” he said. “King Bridei, your druid asks
that we remain on Ioua. There are practical considerations; questions of supplies and the fact that we might offer certain services to folk living on the nearby islands. I don’t speak of prayers; we have a healer among us, and men with other useful skills.”

Carnach glanced at Bridei. They had discussed this at length before the meeting began; their answers had been determined before the questions
were formally presented. “Such activities as those would be deemed acceptable,” the red-haired chieftain said. “As long as they are not accompanied by the telling of Christian tales and the conduct of Christian ritual. Those practices are banned throughout Dalriada. That extends to the western isles. Should the king decide to allow you shelter on Ioua, what you did within your own walls would
be your own business. You are priests, after all. Should the practice of your ritual creep beyond the shores of the island, you would find yourselves bundled onto a fast boat back to Erin.”